


The Needs of the Two

by DrDom



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, T'hy'la, Trans Jim Kirk, Trans Male Character, Trans Spock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 16:23:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3775369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrDom/pseuds/DrDom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trans guys James T. Kirk and Spock have sex. Porn-with-plot-if-you-squint, and NSF-anything-at-all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Needs of the Two

**Author's Note:**

> This was prompted by the amazing Sam Orchard’s amazing Spirk sketch: https://instagram.com/p/1mVyaJsNDz/  
> My headcanon went off and this was the result.  
> Additional characters (Mel and Kai) taken from Erika Moen (although not under those names).

“Shall _I_ beam you up this time?”

One hand on the control handle, the Captain pointed with his other suggestively. As permitted by the privacy of the turbolift, Spock’s mouth curved upwards.

“I believe that was the arrangement,” he affirmed.

Jim’s grin broadened. 

“I’ll see you in my quarters after the shift, then,” he said, his voice purring.

The tips of Spock’s ears turned green as he stared back hungrily at his Captain. The lift stopped, and the doors to the Bridge opened. Jim gave an ‘after you’ motion to Spock, and then watched with appreciative eyes as he crossed over to the Science station. Kirk took his own seat in the centre of the Bridge, greeting his Alpha shift crew.

After the initial flurry of shift-change duties subsided, Jim’s thoughts turned back to his First Officer. He felt there were too many hours in between now and their assignation this evening. As the pair of them could, of course, walk around with raging hard-ons that were undetectable by anyone else, Jim decided to make it his job to keep Spock in a state of high arousal all day. It was the little things that he knew would do it - the gentle touches on his arm, the looks across the Bridge, the small and secret smile when he asked for his input on command decisions. Spock would respond, as always, by becoming increasingly logical, superior, and occasionally acerbic, and Bones would take any excuse to come to the Bridge to watch the fun. 

Jim knew that he would pay for it later, in private. He also knew that he would not mind doing so in the least.

The plan went splendidly for the first part of the day. Spock had progressed through comments on the illogical nature of members of the crew, to raising an eyebrow, and had finally mentioned ‘your human emotions’; a sure sign that Jim was getting to him. A diversion at this point, in the form of an alien race who decided to kidnap Yeoman Rand, took Jim’s mind away from his schemes for a time. 

The Zala, as they discovered their adversaries were called, had equipped their ship with a new type of warp drive, and it took a long chase, some nifty flying from Sulu, and a spread of photon torpedoes before they were halted. At which point they were hailed on an encrypted channel by Janice Rand, who had used the time to befriend the Zalan second-in-command, lock the Captain in the engine room, and was now calling to give Kirk the ship’s shield modulation frequencies. A direct hit took enabled Jim to beam over with an away team and rendezvous with his missing Yeoman.

There was a small amount of hand-to-hand combat during the mission, and Jim had a difficult few moments with the Zala second-in-command, his shirt ripping in the altercation. After their return to the _Enterprise_ , Jim decided his presence on the Bridge was required more urgently than a change of uniform. His Bridge duties seemed to take an inordinate amount of time, during which he appeared to ignore the fact that his muscular chest, smudged with dirt and a little bit of blood, was on full show. 

It was only after the second reminder from Spock of Starfleet dress regulations (that he quoted both paragraph _and_ line numbers showed the extent of his inner turmoil) that Jim decided he should change. Rand, who had responded with indignation to the suggestion that she go off-duty after being kidnapped, had brought him a new shirt. He stripped off in the Captain’s chair, taking his time with the new clothing, aware throughout of a pair of eyes drilling into him from the Science station and a small tongue moistening green-tinged lips when their owner momentarily lost control.

A few hours later, Jim decided that that the Zalans were definitely not following them. He stood down the ship from Red Alert. Rand arrived with coffee for the command team, and Jim sipped his carefully, eyes twinkling at his Science officer over the rim of the cup.

“Quite an eventful day, wouldn’t you say, Mr Spock?”

“Indeed, Captain.” Spock, of course, was not drinking coffee. “Yeoman Rand showed remarkable courage and intelligence. For a human, naturally.”

Janice Rand quirked an eyebrow.

“Why thank you, Mr Spock,” she replied, “that almost sounded like a compliment.” She turned away. “For a Vulcan.” 

Gathering up the coffee pot, she left the Bridge.

Kirk grinned at Spock’s outraged expression.

“She got you there,” he noted.

Spock sniffed.

Jim stretched out lazily in the Captain’s chair.

“You know, I think it might be time to let Beta shift take over.”

“They reported as ready for duty two hours ago,” Spock noted, only the slightest hint of reproof in his tone.

As the shift began to change, Jim saw Spock stand ready to leave.

“Mr Spock, a moment,” he called. “I should really update the log before I leave. Will you assist me in Yeoman Rand’s absence?”

Jim was positive he was the only one to see the annoyance in Spock’s eyes. He dictated a log entry that was rather longer than strictly necessary, erasing and re-starting three times, his hand on Spock’s arm as he held the recorder. By the end, he could feel the waves of frustration and desire rolling off Spock. Only the arrival of the Beta shift Commander finally shifted Jim from the Captain’s chair.

Kirk and Spock shared the turbolift in silence. By the time they reached Jim’s quarters, he was well aware he was going to get it once they were inside. The speed with which Spock grabbed him as soon as the door was shut still took him by surprise.

Jim felt himself thrust up against the wall by a pair of strong, slender hands. He looked into dark eyes that seemed endless pools of desire, and felt the pant of Spock’s breath on his face.

“You … are … incorrigible,” Spock grated out.

Jim tried to shrug. “Well, I —”

Spock kissed him. It wasn’t gentle; the cumulative frustration of many hours poured out of Spock into a fierce pushing and sucking that turned Kirk’s legs to jelly. He held on tightly as the initial onslaught subsided, and they both came up for air panting and — in Jim’s case — grinning broadly from ear to ear.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

Spock growled.

Jim ducked out of his arms and moved further into the main room. He knew that, after today, neither of them were going to be in for a leisurely build-up. He ducked into the bedroom and returned with a collection of requisites, which he placed on the desk.

Spock had taken a seat and was watching him carefully. With a grin, Jim slowly peeled off his shirt, holding eye contact with the Vulcan all the time. He dropped it nonchalantly to the floor, aware already of the heightened colour in Spock’s cheeks. He took his time with his boots, then threw them over his shoulder. His trousers dropped to the floor and he kicked them away, facing Spock only in a pair of tight black boxer shorts.

Spock’s breathing was erratic now, his ears glowing green. Kirk grasped the waistband of his boxers and nudged them slowly over the bulge of his packer. The silky material slid down his thighs, and Spock made a small sound in the back of his throat as Kirk stepped out of them, fully naked.

Jim stretched out, luxuriating in the feel of Spock’s aroused gaze. He dropped a hand downwards to his packer, running his fingers over his own firm length. His fingertips found the clasps, and he unhooked it.

Spock was out of his seat, and kneeling in front of Kirk. He trailed a hand down Jim’s stomach. Jim’s dick, as a consequence of the testosterone he had taken since he was young, was as long as the tip of Spock’s tongue as he took it gently in his mouth to kiss. 

It felt like a photon torpedo went off in Jim’s brain as Spock’s mouth closed on his dick. That single inch of nerve endings seemed to grow to encompass his entire world. Jim was vaguely aware he was making some quite un-Captain-like noises, but he abandoned any thought of rank and conduct as Spock’s dexterous tongue flicked lightly across the blunted head of his dick.

Jim slowly became aware that Spock had paused in his marvellous ministrations. Inscrutable eyes peered up at him, and then Spock stood.

Frustrated desire filled Jim’s voice.

“Spock — ”

Jim’s hands moved to pull Spock’s shirt. He was stopped.

“We still have not settled the matter of your behaviour today, Jim.”

Kirk paused. 

“You could spank me for it,” he suggested.

Spock’s eyes momentarily went flat with lust. 

“Perhaps another time,” he growled. He nodded over to the desk. “Proceed.”

Jim was so aroused he found it difficult to walk. His dick, small, hard, and erect, throbbed at every motion of his legs.

He took an object from the table.

“Let’s saddle up,” he said, grinning.

He stepped into the leather and elastic of the harness and pulled the straps tight.

Spock spoke: “Jim, I fail to see why you use that item. Your subcutaneous magnetic harness is fully capable of supporting a —”

Spock’s voice dried in his throat as Jim turned. Jim planted his legs wide and confidently, his hips thrust forwards. The black straps of the harness around his waist and thighs stood out in contrast with his pale skin. 

“I’m just an old-fashioned kind of guy,” he said, self-deprecatingly.

He took another item from the desk.

“Time to lock and load.”

The long heft of his cock as he fastened it into the harness, pushing up and outwards, held a whole world of promise.

Spock cleared his throat. “It is not correct to mix your metaphors in such —”

“Shall I mix _your_ metaphors instead?”

" _That_ is simply illogical."

“I feel rather illogical around you,” Kirk admitted, walking slowly towards him.

Spock’s voice was rough with arousal. “You are often … illogical.”

“I’m often around you.” Jim mentioned, leaning in.

He felt strong hands grasp his arms, and he was being pushed backwards. He sat down, heavily, in the deep chair by his desk.

Spock stood over him, slender fingers pressing into his wrists. Kirk, entirely naked, the shaft of his prosthesis thrusting between them, sat panting. The fact that Spock was still completely clothed was driving him nearly wild with desire, but he knew better than to complain. Spock seemed intent on treating him to a fair return measure of the frustration he had meted out, and a touch of the fire with which he had been playing all day.

Spock leaned down and his mouth found Kirk’s. It was not the frantic push of their first kiss this evening, but a slow and measured probing, completely controlled, claiming Jim as his own by right. Jim felt his rational thought processes completely derail, as if only the sense of Spock, his closeness and his touch, were keeping him together. Spock moved, his mouth and tongue now trailing down Jim’s neck, sucking at his collarbone in a manner that drew a moan to mix in with his panting breaths. The strain in his dick, now pressed against the underside of the harness and the prosthetic cock, was becoming unbearable as Spock slowly continued his inexorable progress down his torso.

Finally, Spock was kneeling in front of him. He firmly parted Jim’s knees, and slid him forwards so that Jim was sitting low in the chair, his erect cock on a level with Spock’s face. Spock looked up at him, eyes like black holes, his face utterly expressionless; Jim, almost alone of all humans, knew the depth of feeling that represented. 

“Please,” he whispered, and he didn’t know himself if he was giving permission or simply begging.

Spock’s deft fingers traced lines up the inside of Jim’s thighs. Jim bit his lip, refusing to be reduced to incoherency this early on, but could not stop a cry escaping him as long, cool hands made contact with his groin. Spock leaned in, and his mouth followed his hands, pressing into Jim and sending shooting currents of desire up through his stomach. 

“Spock, oh god, Spock … ”

Spock’s tongue was on the move, running along the outline of the harness, drawing moans from Jim as he tried to stay still. Head flung back, he felt Spock’s tongue pause, and then dart underneath the prosthetic cock to his dick. He cried out as he arched backwards.

Panting, he came back to himself to find Spock’s hands now wrapped around the base of the cock. He took Jim’s cock in his mouth.

“Holy shit,” Jim gasped.

It never stopped amazing him how good it felt seeing Spock go to town on his prosthesis. He did it with complete conviction, the action of his mouth as he sucked and pulled pushing the base up against Jim’s dick in a way that soon had him breathless and moaning continuously. The sight of Spock sucking him in, his mouth gleaming with moisture, sent love, desire, want, need, belonging, all surging through him and out to the kneeling Vulcan.

“T’hy’la,” Jim whispered.

He reached out, his fingers tracing the outline of Spock’s ears. He could feel Spock’s responding growl resonating in his cock and down to his dick, and the sound and feeling pushed him right up to the edge.

“Oh god … Spock — ”

The orgasm gathered in his stomach. Spock pushed down with his mouth and Kirk flung back his head, oblivious to the words he was shouting, as Spock’s hands and mouth massaged him through his climax.

Jim slumped in the chair, feeling like all his bones had gone soft, not caring at all that a grin of satisfied happiness was spreading itself across his face. He ran a gentle hand through Spock’s hair, then trailed it down to press against the side of his cheek. They gazed at each other. 

Jim smiled. 

“Why, Mr Spock,” he said, in the gently-chiding voice he knew drove the Vulcan wild, “you seem to be still dressed.”

Spock’s voice was low, almost vibrating with controlled desire.

“I do indeed, Captain. Perhaps you might assist me in rectifying this situation?”

A grin broke across Jim’s face. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He leaned forward and tugged at Spock’s shirt, pulling the blue Science uniform up over his head. Spock’s naked chest, almost emerald with exertion, always had a profound effect on Jim. He ran his hands through Spock’s chest hair, before leaning in and planting a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Up,” he commanded. 

This time it was Jim’s turn to steer his partner. Snatching up a bottle from the desk as they passed, he gently pulled Spock into his bedroom. Spock’s breathing had become erratic as he moved, and Jim felt the stirrings of new desire under his harness. He sat Spock on the bed and removed his boots, then pulled the compliant Vulcan to his feet again to take off his uniform trousers. 

Spock was panting, seemingly beyond doing anything for himself. Kirk knew all his desire and emotions were building up for what they were about to do. He had discovered early on in their relationship that orgasms, for Vulcans, were strictly single-shot events, each one coming with its own payload of anticipation that, in Spock’s case, generally reduced him to speechlessness both before and afterward.

Standing in his boxers, Spock looked at Kirk, his eyes black. Kirk reached out to him. He knew this. They had talked about this over and over. For touch telepaths, the act of love could not be associated with speech. Spock would never have got into this situation if it weren’t his choosing. But every time Jim still needed to ask.

“Spock,” he said, gently, “is this what you want?”

Spock’s voice was hoarse. He was almost beyond speaking. “Yes. Jim. T’hy’la.” His hands tightened on Jim’s upper arms. “ _Now_ ”.

“We need to get you lubed up first,” Jim said. “No —“ he added, as Spock shook his head impatiently, “you _know_ what Bones will say if we don’t stay safe.”

The ghost of a smile appeared on Spock’s face. Jim himself grinned broadly. This had been the unanswerable argument ever since the never-to-be-forgotten time when Jim had pushed back during sex at exactly the point that Spock gave a strong thrust, and the resultant profanities from Jim had expanded Spock’s vocabulary quite considerably. Extremely concerned that he had injured the Captain, who was curled in a ball making whimpering noises, Spock had rushed to get the doctor. Bones had arrived with his medkit, given Jim a painkilling injection, and pronounced no lasting damage. He told the children to play more carefully next time before leaving. Later that evening, they both found a copy of the educational storybook ‘Mel and Kai: the Anal Safety Snails’ in their inboxes.

“I know you have ‘superior posterior muscle control’,” Jim continued, also now smiling at the memory of the first time he had been told _that_ little fact about Vulcans, “but everyone needs a bit of engine grease, as Scotty would say.”

Spock nodded, his breathing beginning to quicken again. Jim pulled down his boxers and he kicked them away. Jim put his hand on the front of Spock’s soft green packer.

“On or off?” he asked.

“On,” Spock whispered.

Jim grinned, and pressed his hand forwards. As the packer made contact with the sensitive area underneath, Spock let out a gasp, his eyes flying wide. He was panting, not taking his eyes off Jim, as Jim slid his other arm around him and pulled him in close, all the while pressing his hand into Spock.

Spock buried his head in Jim’s shoulder, the beginnings of a moan starting deep in his chest. Jim held him close as his hand moved around from Spock’s packer to his waist. He steered him towards the bed, and they both collapsed onto it. After a few seconds of hunting, Jim found the bottle of lube. 

Spock had rolled over onto his front, and was now in his favourite position, spreadeagled across the bed. Jim grabbed a pillow and pushed it under his hips, raising up his perfect rounded, muscular behind. And coincidentally giving a surface against which Spock’s packer would press when pressure were applied, as it were, from above — with desirable results. With a finger liberally coated in lube, he pushed into Spock’s hole.

The noise Spock made was incoherent and loud as his fists bunched into the sheets. Jim added more lube and pushed his finger in deeper, guiding his angle by the noises coming from above him. Another early discovery had been the fact that trans Vulcan males (in common, he presumed, with cis females although he had never had occasion to ask) had an anatomical element similar in sensation and positioning to the human prostate. Jim had taken finding this each time as his personal goal after seeing the effect it had on Spock.

Spock made a noise like all the air had been expelled from his lungs, and went rigid. _Got it_ , Jim thought. He made a mental note of the angle for this time. He gently slid out his finger and Spock seemed to start breathing again. Jim ran his hands down his back, marvelling at the feel of the tight muscles beneath the skin. Spock quivered under his touch, need and desire shaking through him.

“Are you ready?” Kirk asked. 

Spock nodded vehemently. Jim was convinced that if he were a telepath he would have just got an earful.

Jim felt his breath catch as he gazed at the prone Vulcan, and his dick began to strain beneath the harness. He covered the prosthesis in a plentiful supply of lube. Gently he parted Spock’s green-flushed buttocks, and placed the tip of his cock against his hole. Remembering his angle, he pushed in carefully.

The cry that broke from Spock nearly undid Jim. It was high and loud, and changed tone as Jim pushed in further. All of Spock’s want and desire and connection seemed contained in that sound. Taking his weight on one arm, Jim ran a caressing hand down Spock’s back as he buried himself in his partner.

Fully in, he paused, rubbing Spock’s back as he gasped, no longer crying out, but panting like he’d run around ten decks. Jim waited, as he always did. As _he_ always did, Spock began to push back, impatient for him to move. Jim lifted his hips, and thrust.

Spock arched backwards, his hands scrabbling for purchase on the sheets, deep moans pulling up from his throat. The sight of him losing control beneath him send Jim’s synapses spinning. The pressure against his dick at each thrust, the knowledge of what he was doing to Spock, and the sounds he was making, all hit Jim, and it was several moments before he realised that his own moans were now mingling with Spock’s. He quickened his pace, convinced the Vulcan beneath him would not last much longer. He changed his angle once, twice … 

Spock seemed to swallow his own cry as Jim hit his sensitive spot. Jim thrust into him again, sending all his love and desire through his actions into his partner. There was no longer any distinction, any differentiation between Jim or Spock, skin or prosthesis. Jim felt as if Spock’s sensations and desires were as close to him as his own as he continued to thrust into him, over and again nudging the sensitive area, sometime missing, sometimes hitting it dead on. But he knew that for Spock that was only a tiny part of the whole of what they were doing. He ran his hands along his back, twining into his hair, and then down his arm to grasp one of Spock’s hands.

He felt the pressure on the prosthesis change, and knew that Spock was getting closer. Their joined hands showed white at the knuckles, and Jim gathered himself for the last thrusts. Spock became stiller, his whole body seeming to gather into itself. Jim pulled himself back and then thrust with all his weight.

Spock gave a huge cry, his whole body shaking. It was too much for Jim. With small movements he rode Spock through his climax, then his own hit and he reared back before collapsing on his hands and knees above his trembling and gasping partner.

Jim gently pulled out, and unhooked the prosthesis before turning to Spock. The Vulcan was lying, utterly spent, still sprawled over the pillow. Jim eased it out from under him. His packer had come off in the turmoil and Jim put it carefully to one side then grabbed a blanket. He lay down with one arm around Spock’s shoulders, and covered them both.

They lay there for long minutes, Jim careful to maintain the close physical connection. Spock seemed gradually to gather himself together, and eventually he rolled over in Jim’s arms. After a little bit of wriggling, he was lying on Jim’s chest, and Jim held his warmth and weight as a precious thing in both arms.

“Even now, after all these months, you still surprise me,” Spock noted, his voice rumbling across Jim’s chest.

“Me?” Jim asked, in his best voice of injured innocence. “I would say I’m the most straightforward of men.”

“Indeed, you are … most human.” 

Jim could _feel_ Spock’s eyebrow quirk. 

Spock rolled out of his arms and onto his stomach, and regarded Jim thoughtfully. 

“No,” he continued, “I mean that you surprise me with … myself.”

“Then that’s the best gift I can give.”

Jim reached out his hand, first two fingers together. Spock held up his own in response. Very gently, they touched fingertips. It felt to Jim like an electric spark jolted between them, and Spock smiled. Jim leaned forward when suddenly —

“Red Alert! Captain to the Bridge!”

Jim was off the bed and over at the comm in an instant.

“Uhura, this is the Captain. Report.”

“It’s the Zala, Captain. Our sensors have just picked up their ship on an intercept course!”

Kirk grabbed his underpants.

“Shields up,” he ordered. “Tell them we’ll set Yeoman Rand on them if they come any closer. I’m on my way. Kirk out.”

He hunted frantically through the covers of the bed. Where was … ?

His hands closed on something squishy. He held up Spock’s packer.

“Jim … “

Spock, on the other side of the room, was holding his. Jim threw Spock’s packer across the room, catching his own in return and clipping it hurriedly in place.

The two of them finished their rapid dressing and dashed out into the corridor. Crewmen were busy rushing to their assigned stations, but a few spared their commanding officers a glance that quickly turned to surprise.

“Have I got something on my face?” Kirk queried, as they sped upwards in the turbolift to the Bridge.

Spock cleared his throat. “I, ah, may have the answer, Captain.”

He looked down at himself. Kirk followed his gaze. For a moment he could see nothing amiss: despite their hurried dressing, Spock looked as pristine as ever, his uniform shirt immacul—

His uniform shirt.

His _gold_ uniform shirt.

Jim looked down. He was wearing Spock’s Science blues.

The door of the turbolift opened. Jim raised his eyebrows in amused questioning. Spock nodded.

The Captain and his First Officer stepped onto the Bridge.

**FIN**


End file.
